These Nights Aren't Made For Thinking: Outtake 1
by nowforruin
Summary: As requested, an outtake from the longer work, "These Nights Aren't Made For Thinking" with all the details of Emma and Killian's bartop evening at the end of chapter 21. M for a reason.


The first time his hips bump into her, she's positive it's an accident. There isn't a whole lot of room behind the bar, and it's busy with the evening rush. She's pouring a beer while reaching for the bottle of tequila as he goes for the vodka. Easy enough to explain him brushing up against her.

He grins at her as he passes, a cheeky grin filled with amusement, and she smiles back, because this is what she likes so much about being in the bar with him, the easiness, the closeness. The flirting takes her mind off other things, and it's harmless.

When his arm snakes around her, catching her breasts in a caress, she's more suspicious, but it happens so quickly she can't make an accusation. Instead, she narrows her eyes at him, watching him move away with a handful of overflowing beer glasses.

But she can hear him laughing, and that means war.

The next time he's behind her, reaching around her for a bottle of liquor, she's got her hand behind her as she leans into him, the small gasp her touch elicits practically a victory cry from her own lips. He freezes behind her as she runs her fingers along the seam of his zipper, her other hand on the tap for the beer she's pouring.

"Careful, love," he growls in her ear, backing away from her grasp. "Don't start something you can't finish."

She simply offers him up a saucy smirk, praying he won't notice how red her cheeks have grown. She's only wearing a T-shirt, but she feels like someone has taken the thermostat and cranked it up to scalding. This isn't quite her usual style, but she's taking a page from Killian's book.

The next time he's behind her, he keeps his hips out of her reach, but nips at her neck under the guise of bending for a glass, his hand innocently poised on her hip for balance as he reaches, but his fingers pressing with another purpose.

Emma grits her teeth, because that point goes to him, and she has to catch up. It's the only distraction she has from the ache between her legs, the twinge of hard nipples rubbing against the inside of her bra.

She's only barely aware of the patrons in the bar, of Victor sitting somewhere in the crowd, witnessing their game of cat and mouse. Emma doesn't care. All she cares about is making Killian pay for what he's doing to her, to make him ache with the same unfulfilled want.

But he's smarter than he looks, and he only grins wildly at her when she approaches with one excuse or another. He still manages to find ways to taunt her, his fingers quick or his hips pressing to her with his enthusiasm for their game obvious.

They're both lucky it's dark in the bar, and that Killian's jeans are snug enough to keep matters somewhat concealed.

Concealed, at least, from those not close enough to feel the evidence for themselves.

When the last person leaves the bar, Emma practically runs after them to lock up. She doesn't care about Killian's borderline OCD need to leave the bar in perfect shape before retiring for the night. She wants him upstairs _now_.

When she leans back against the door, Killian's eyes smolder in the darkness. Smee has already left for the night, and they're alone in the bar. Emma walks back to him as slowly as she can manage, letting her hips sway, his gaze hypnotic, drawing her in.

"You've been very naughty tonight," he murmurs in her ear as she nears, his hands on her body as soon as she's within reach. He hauls her up against him, the hard length of him against her stomach. "Very distracting."

"Oh, _me_?" She's incredulous, but it's all for show, because his lips are on her neck and she's already melting into him, her body begging for his touch. Stress is a strange bedfellow, but it's working, because she would strip right here, right now, and let him have her on the disgusting bar floor just to make the ache stop. The heated stares and light brushes all night long have made every nerve in her body stand on end, and if he doesn't _do_ something soon, Emma thinks she just might burn the place to the ground.

"Had to make sure those lads looking at you knew you were _mine_," he tells her between kisses, his hands sliding under her shirt, cupping her breasts even as his mouth assaults her neck. "What's your excuse, love?" He purrs the words into her ear, his breath hot as his tongue sneaks out to lick the shell of her ear.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar." His lips are on hers before she can protest, and there's the heat she's been seeking, his mouth insistent, needy. He's got her backed up to the bar, and then she's sitting on it, her legs wrapping around his hips, the hardness of his erection pressing right where she wants him.

His lips leave hers, tracing a path down her collarbones until he loses patience with pushing the shirt out of his way and simply strips her of it. His mouth descends to her breasts, and he's nipping and sucking as he goes and it's all Emma can do not to fall off the damn bar.

It's not the first time they've gotten themselves all worked up down here, but it's the first time Killian has started undressing her in the bar, and a small thrill goes through her. It's not like she hasn't thought about it – her and Killian, this bar, and him doing wicked things to her on it. And when she sees the gleam in his eyes, it's clearly a thought that's crossed his mind before.

"Upstairs?" he asks, but there's a hint of hope in it, and Emma grins wickedly back at him, tugging his shirt off. Ever the gentleman, her Killian, but she isn't in the mood for good manners tonight.

"Nah."

He's kissing her again, and she uses his belt to pull him closer. The gun shoved in her jeans presses into her back as Killian bends her over the bar, but it's gone quickly, safely out of the way in a pile with their shirts. It's a reminder she doesn't need, and she pulls Killian back to her, kissing him urgently.

Her hands are back at his waist, undoing his belt and yanking at the zipper of his jeans. She's too impatient to even shove them over his hips, instead going directly for her prize with eager hands. "Bloody hell, Emma," he curses as he takes him in hand, her thumb swiping at the moisture she finds, her heels digging into his thighs as she holds her body just far enough away to allow her hands access.

His fingers are splayed across the wooden surface of the bar, his arms caging her in as she releases him, her nails dragging up his stomach to his hips, pulling him back in tighter. There's far too many layers of clothes still on her body, but she can feel the heat of him even through the denim, feel the desire.

"I have thought about this far too often," he tells her, dragging her down off the bar onto unsteady feet. He swallows her answer, his tongue plunging into her mouth as he works to remove her jeans. "You are a bloody distracting woman."

"I can leave…" She barely gets the words out, because he's kissing her again, fiercely, her back pressed to the wood behind her. Most of the lights are off, leaving the few candles spread among the liquor bottles to give the room an orange glow.

The shadows make the desire in his eyes burn, burn, burn and Emma leans back on her elbows as his mouth falls to her breasts, one hand kneading while his lips work at her. His teeth nip, tongue following to soothe the sting, and it sends a rush of heat between her legs.

"Killian…" His name comes out as a plea, a breathy moan, desperate for the torture to stop…or never end.

He has ideas of his own, and getting her naked is only the first step. Their clothes land in a heap on the bar beside them, and Emma's naked form is all the more erotic while surrounded by the things he looks at every day. He's grown used to Emma in his bed, but Emma here is new and thrilling and _god_, he's going to remember this on every boring shift he works from now until forever.

"Brace yourself, sweetheart," he growls in her ear, turning her back to his chest and pulling her hands to the bar. She glances over her shoulder at him, her fingers curling around the edge of the wood, her lower lip between her teeth.

He's almost desperate to have her, but he isn't through with her yet. He's going to make her pay for the night filled with aching balls and the sweet torture of constantly trying to adjust his too-tight jeans to accommodate the erection she ensured never really went away.

He presses himself against her, his cock nestling against the welcoming softness of her ass, but he doesn't move his hips to slide between her thighs. Instead, he anchors one hand on her hip, keeping her firmly in place, as the other hand wanders down her body. His touches are light, light enough to be maddening, grazing over the hollow of her throat, her tight nipples, and the curve of her waist.

She's making quiet sounds, moans and gasps, but she won't beg, not his proud Emma. That's too bad, because making her beg is his intention this night. His thighs press against hers, but still he won't take her, even though he can see her knuckles are white where she's gripping the bar.

It gives him a thrill of satisfaction.

His hand dips lower, index finger tracing a line straight down from her belly button. Her hips press forward, but his other hand keeps her captive, pressed back against him as he chuckles low in her ear. "Not yet, love," he whispers, his index finger dropping to the inside of her thigh, skipping right over where she wants him.

"Please," is the only response he gets, throaty and breathless. It's almost his undoing, that single word, but he isn't quite finished with her yet.

"Please what?" He traces a path back up her thigh, agonizingly slow, his palm pressing against her while his fingers slide between the slick folds. It's deliciously satisfying how her thighs quiver when he finally touches her, how wet she is already. The power this woman gives him over her body is intoxicating.

"Jesus Christ, Killian…" She's panting, grinding her hips back into his as much as his tight grip will let her. "I need you. This is torture."

"Torture? I should stop then." He withdraws his hand, and grins against her neck at the groan the action elicits.

"You're going to pay for this if you don't…"

"Don't what?" He's touching her again, but too lightly to give her any satisfaction.

She twists to glare at him, her eyes a green so deep it's nearly black. "Are you going to fuck me up against this bar or not?"

The crude words, usually his style, coming from her mouth are enough to convince him. He pushes her legs further apart, tilting his hips to slam into her with one sure stroke that leaves them both gasping.

Emma's back arches, the angle changing ever so slightly as he thrusts forward again and again, holding nothing back. They're so worked up it doesn't take long at all, Emma's body shaking as she leans forward into rubbery arms, waves of pleasure coursing through her body as Killian's weight settles against her back.

He doesn't leave her there for long, pulling her around into his arms and settling her on top of the bar, standing on shaky legs between hers. The roughness fades, and he pulls her close for the long, lingering kiss of a well-satisfied man.

"I think there are nail gouges in your bar," Emma says quietly when he pulls back, grinning at him. He doesn't seem even mildly concerned, instead looking into her eyes with plenty of mischief.

"Are there now?" He offers her up a smirk, gathering handfuls of her tangled hair up as he pulls her in for another kiss. "Not to worry, love. I'm sure they'll all blend together…one day."

She laughs as he scoops her into his arms and heads for the stairs.

* * *

><p>Well, hope you all like it. Not my usual thing, so hopefully it lives up to expectations. You all can thankblame Angelfan984 for being the instigator of this idea.


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